


Waiting

by goldensnitch18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensnitch18/pseuds/goldensnitch18
Summary: They've been waiting for a very long time.





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for The Harmony Shag-A-Thon, hosted by the Facebook group, Harmony & Co. All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.

Despite the brightly roaring fire kept in the hearth, the frost on the windows was dangerously close to fully concealing any view from the small cottage. Outside, bitter cold and raging winds claimed the world with vicious, unrelenting fervor, as if the weather were ignorant of the importance of the day and the desire for travel it spurred in the humans who lived upon the surface. Luckily, Harry and Hermione had arrived in the cabin hours before, both Apparating in to save them from the cold. It was their second Christmas spent here in the cabin.

The first had been the year before, just a couple months after she and Ron had broken it off. They would have been welcome at The Burrow despite the fact that both of their relationships had ended with their respective Weasley, but she had wanted space, space that didn’t involve going to her parents. Things between them had been tense since she had returned their memories. Visiting them for a few hours on Christmas day was her limit.

Harry had offered to spend Christmas with her, and so they had rented this place out for three nights. It was a decent sized cabin with three bedrooms, a nice kitchen, and a cozy library. Hermione spent most of her time in the library the first year, hiding from him for a reason she wasn’t really sure of.

This year, they arrived on Christmas Eve and made dinner together. Then, they had both gone to unpack their bags. By the time Hermione had emerged in her pajamas with a book in her hand, Harry was sitting in front of the fire with a firewhisky. He had changed into a simple white shirt and lounge pants. She tried not to let her eyes linger on him for longer than was strictly necessary as she made her way to the couch.

“Get settled in?” he asked.

She nodded back at him. “I’m so glad we came back this year. This place is so peaceful.”

“It is.” He watched her take her seat and lifted his drink to her. “Want one?”

“You know I hate it.” She laughed.

“One day I’ll convert you,” he assured her.

She just shook her head, turning her book to open it. They sat there, bathing in the warmth of the fire, Harry drinking and her reading, quietly enjoying each other's presence for nearly half an hour before Harry spoke again.

“Hermione.” She looked towards him, surprised. “Dance with me,” he said, quietly, as he set his drink down on the end table. Green eyes darkened with something mysterious met brown, asking the question his words had made a statement as he stretched out one hand.

Hermione felt flustered by the suggestion for some reason, all of this seeming new somehow, which didn't make much sense to her. She had known Harry for more than half of her life, spent many winter nights with him staying warm from the heat of a fire in her pajamas.

“There isn’t any music, Harry,” she told him, but he had grabbed his wand already, fixing the problem she had identified. She bit her lip, considering his extended hand.

She had danced with him before: joyfully, slowly, and with sorrow so heavy she never thought she would move past it. But, she had; they had. Together they moved forward, always together. Ron had been there, of course. He still was, but things were different. Despite their promise to be friends when they had broken up, something separated her from him now, and something felt different about this here with Harry. It felt more significant than it had before. It had for some time, felt different, that is.

She nodded.

He stood, moving towards her until she grabbed his hand. They must look silly, two grown adults dancing in their pajamas, but she found that she didn’t care. He held her close, doing a simple circle on the rug, nothing fancy. She couldn’t help but be reminded of a moment in a tent years before when she had been in his arms, trying desperately not to think the things she was thinking.

When she looked up, she realized Harry was looking down at her. She thought she might be able to see her own thoughts reflected in his. So, she could have stopped it. Harry was so easy to read. He gave her so much time, so much warning, as if she were a deer he might spook if she caught his scent, but she wouldn't. She had known where this dance was leading them, where the entire evening had been leading them, perhaps their entire lives, and now that it was so close, just right in front of her, she was desperate for the moment to arrive, to claim what had been rightfully hers for so many years.

Harry's face hovered just above hers, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as he stared down at it. Their bodies were still now, lost in thick energy of watching each other. Soft music filled the air around them offering subtle encouragement. “It would change everything,” he whispered.

“We've never failed an adventure, yet,” she replied, feeling his thumb move with her words. It dipped down slowly to rest on her chin.

“I'm terrified,” he admitted.

“Me too,” she agreed. He was everything to her. If they failed - it was unthinkable.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he said, as if this was something they had discussed before, as if they had mutually agreed to wait.

“Me too,” she repeated, realizing that perhaps they had agreed to wait. There hadn’t been words, but moments of the last year came back to her, moments where they almost could have started something, but hadn’t.

“How would we tell Ron?” he asked, and she let out a soft sigh of frustration.

“I honestly don't know, but …” Hermione's hand moved up from his chest to his cheek, the stubble from his face scratched against her skin gently. “I don't think I care right now.”

“I've never been a good boyfriend,” he told her, as if she hadn’t watched him fumble with Cho, and fail to be what Ginny needed after the war, and then trip through the next two years with this flavor and that, nothing sticking long enough for her to even remember.

“You've never been with me,” she said. He was solid for her, always there when she needed him. There was no reason to expect that he would change. There wasn’t another person alive who could claim that Harry Potter was for them what he was for her, not even Ron.

“I’m probably going to mess this up,” he admitted, his insecurities causing him to bit at his bottom lip.

“I won't let you.” She moved her hand up again, losing her fingers in the mess of hair atop his head, and pulling him closer, inches vanishing. “Just kiss me, Harry.”

And, so he did.

A gentle press of lips together, tentative and new, delicious and careful, and then growing into something that needed more, demanded it with a fervor beyond any first kiss she ever experienced. Perhaps it was the build up, or the knowledge of how forbidden this was, or that it felt like she had been waiting years for this moment, but her entire body seemed to ignite in response to the combined pressure of his lips and the hand on her lower back, guiding her body to mold against his. Their kiss tasted like firewhisky, spicy and smooth. It was just one more layer of fire on top of the inferno enveloping them. Her mouth tasted him eagerly, wanting more of him, more of the firewhisky, more of him touching her. He was right. He had found a way to convert her.

Deep within her, an ache which had lay silently inside her exploded forth, letting loose everything she had shoved down, carefully hiding year after year to protect their friends and their own hearts. Every question, every wanton moment, every silly fantasy that had given her shame and made her feel like a horrible friend burst into her mind, urging her on. Years of buried temptation hit her all at once, urging on her fingers as they slid down from his chest to the hem of his white cotton t-shirt, pulling up quickly. Harry opened his eyes as she broke their embrace to shove the cloth over his head. She knew he was trying to figure out what she wanted, how far she was going to take this, but she just stared at his chest. It had been bare before her so many times. Memories flooded her in remembrance of summers at the Burrow and the year they spent living in a tent, locked away from the world. It hadn’t been hers to look at then. But, now …

Now, she reached out, her fingers tentative as they whispered across his skin. He was warm from fire and firewhisky and lust. Lust for her. Merlin … she closed her eyes for a long moment as she stood before him, opening them again when she was sure that she wasn’t going to flush a bright shade of scarlet at the idea of him wanting her.

“Hermione?” he asked.

“I think … I’ve wanted this for a lot longer than I let myself realize.” She traced old battle scars on his chest, her mind racing through long dormant memories of days she had tried to forget.

“We both have,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again. His hand traced down her side and over the swell of her hip. “Undo your shirt for me.” He said softly. “I want to watch.”

Hermione did flush at that. She felt the heat ride from her neck into her cheeks, but she nodded, taking her hands from his body. They shook for a few moments as she pulled on the first button, the one at the bottom of her shirt. Harry watched them eagerly, and she let out a breath, remembering that he was likely as excited about seeing her body in a new way as she was about his.

The first button came free of the hole. She pulled the two sides of her pajama shirt apart as she moved down to the next. Harry was going to see her breasts.

She pulled the next button loose, sliding down to the third. She heard Harry’s breath hitch as she revealed more skin, working her way up.

Her eyes stayed firmly down, pointed at her ministrations, unable to watch him as he watched her. The third button came free.

She hesitated, glancing up to see him staring at her, his tongue just slightly out of his mouth, as if he could taste her. A shiver ran down her spine as she freed the final button, pulling aside her top and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s mouth parted slightly. The fire beside them sent shadows and flashes of light across his face. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly.

He dipped down to kiss her shoulder gently, his tongue slipping across her skin. She bit back a sound as his hand gilded back up her body to cup her breast. His thumb slid across her nipple, drawing it to a peak, and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes to just feel the sensations of his mouth trailing down to the soft flesh before taking it in his mouth. His tongue darted and swirled around her nipple, sucking with practiced ease. Hot need pooled between her legs, causing her to push her hips into his. “Harry.” The word slipped past her lips unbidden, acknowledgement of the mess he was making her.

He chuckled softly, moving her head back gently to look at him. Her eyes opened again, and she saw her own lust mirrored there, need heavy and urgent. “Here or the bed?” he asked.

It was her turn to laugh at him. She hadn’t cared a second ago. He could have draped her over the overstuffed chair and taken her any way he wanted. “Bed,” she said. He held her tight, turned them both, and the shifted within the house with the familiar crack of apparition.

She barely had her feet on solid ground before she was lifted up by strong arms and moved to the bed right beside them. She landed on the soft quilt with a small bounce, and Harry stood between her legs, his demeanor confident. She tried not to think about the experience that made him this way, but it flashed through her mind anyway. They could have been doing this all that time. Every stupid fling he had could have been another night of them together, this fire flaming between them, this need being satisfied over and over.

Harry’s fingers found the hem of her trousers, and he grinned down at her as he slowly slid them down her legs, leaving her in her knickers. She reached out to do the same, but he grabbed her hands. “Not yet,” he told her. “Lay back.” Hermione moved back to lay on the bed as he climbed up beside her. He moved over her, kissing her again. Skin laid against skin, and she lost her fingers in his hair again, pulling him tightly against her as his cock rocked against her. She knew he was trying to do this somewhat slowly, to make it last, but she couldn’t help but wish he was already burying himself inside of her, filling her.

“Harry,” she moaned his name in disappointment as he left her mouth, sliding down to kiss her chest again.

“You are very eager,” he said, teasing her. He took her other nipple into his mouth, beginning again the process of licking, biting, and sucking at the sensitive nub as Hermione arched beneath him. He gently tugged and rolled the other breast with his hand as he started to move his ministrations down again, tracing her belly with his tongue and teeth, varying the sensations with delicious unpredictability.

When he reached her knickers, Harry’s hands gripped each side, tugging down with slow care. He let out a long, sensual moan as she was revealed to him. She flushed again, but he hardly could have noticed as he had tossed her knickers aside without moving his eyes. He pushed her legs apart and leaned down. Hermione wiggled beneath him, her hands clenching the quilt as his breath sent little shivers of anticipation out from her core.

His tongue touched her first. Overwhelmed by her emotions as he tasted her, Hermione closed her eyes, trying to calm down. Somehow, she and Harry had progressed from best friends to his head buried between her thighs more quickly than she could have imagined. This wasn’t at all what she had expected when she had told him to kiss her. She had assumed the first time would be rush, a mess of limbs and urgent needs to fulfill. They would get to teasing and anticipation. Tender moments of intimacy and discovering each others bodies would come with time. But, Harry seemed unwilling to botch this first go. He was committed to documenting every part of her, tasting her, pulling her to her most exposed point before he even took off his trousers.

“Hermione.” Her name trembled from his lips, “Let go.” His fingers had joined his tongue, sliding into her with dedicated rhythmic persistence, satisfying, but not filling her, not the way he would. Fuck. She let out a moan as she saw them behind her closed lids, Harry sliding inside of her, pumping his cock into her in the same way his fingers were, his chest against hers, his teeth on her neck.

“Oh.” She grabbed his hair, a reflex in response to her orgasm beginning, not wanting him to move away. It washed across her body, tantalizing pleasure spilling from the place where his tongue was spinning sinful circles against her. She cried out, pressing her hips into him. His fingers dug into her skin, adding to the delicious satisfaction.

She fell limp below him moments later, her fingers releasing his hair as her heart thumped out of control. By the time she was paying him any attention again, he was kissing the inside of her calf. Resisting the urge to yank him back up, she let him continue his lazy path, enjoying the time to bring her heart and breath back to a normal rhythm.

By the time he was back at her neck, Hermione was done waiting for him. She shoved down on his trousers, pushing them down. Harry laughed against her skin. “You’re scratching me.”

“You’re being obnoxious. Help me,” she told him, not even feeling bad that she had scratched him in her haste to get him as bloody naked as she was.

Harry wiggled his way out of his his trousers without moving off of her, and then they were there, two people, naked before each other, eyes meeting for their final reassurance that they both wanted this. She watched his eyes as he finally filled her, watch them flutter and then slide shut as he sat still, letting them both enjoy this moment that they had waited a lifetime for. “Oh, fucking hell.” Harry murmured.

Hermione didn’t answer. She just pulled him down to kiss him again, hard and wanting. He seemed to understand, his hips beginning to rock back and forth, the fever that filled them both urging him to a quick and powerful pace. All of the restraint he had been exhibiting seemed to have fled. With his restraint, Hermione’s ability to bite her tongue seemed to leave as well. She gripped him, nails digging into his skin, her moans urging him on. Her hips rocked to meet his with each thrust, and she struggled to form a coherent thought outside of joy and desire.

Harry kissed his way to her ear and began to whisper. “You feel amazing.” His voice was deep and focused, as if it took all of his remaining energy to string words together. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He kissed her again, his body tense as he thrust into her.

“Let go,” she said, repeating his words from earlier. Her name slipped from his lips once more as he came, spilling into her. Harry stayed above her, waiting for her to meet his eyes.

“I’m never letting you go,” he told her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him. Harry moved to his side beside her, leaning down to kiss her shoulder.

“Come to the Ministry New Year’s Party with me?” he asked.

“We always go together,” she reminded him with a small laugh.

“Not like this.” He kissed her again. “I don’t want to hide this. Ever.”

Hermione watched him carefully. She didn’t want to hide him either. They would have to tell their friends about this in the next week then. “Yeah,” she told him. “Let’s do it.


End file.
